Cling
by madame.alexandra
Summary: In the origins of her relationship with Han, Leia tries to balance a need for physical closeness against chasing Han off - but maybe, no balance is necessary.


_a/n: something fluffy. or, if not quite light-hearted, romantic, at the least._

* * *

 ** _Cling_**

* * *

Han discovered quickly, and with some amusement, that the Princess of Alderaan was extremely affectionate in her sleep. He'd noticed, on the very rare occasions when they'd been crammed in the same sleep space before – during high-risk missions, or tight situations – that she was prone to sleeping close. It had been a sort of tame torture for him, then; it seemed just an idiosyncrasy, now.

The _Falcon's_ bunk didn't leave much room for personal space as it were, but Leia always seemed to find a way to press herself close to him and tangle herself around him, disallowing any attempts at escape before she woke up – not that he spent a lot of time trying to escape her.

She had arms around his neck or his chest, head on his shoulder, feet twisted around his, knees aligned with his – it was always something. Han sensed a sort of desperation in the need for physical touch that he didn't want to mention to her when she was awake.

He didn't mind it very much; he thought it was funny, if only because it was so incongruous to how caustic and standoffish she could be in general, even if she had melted a little since they'd left Hoth, and left the asteroid fields, and found a rhythm with each other.

He sat up in his bunk, half leaning on a pillow, half pressed against the wall, handling supply inventory for the next few weeks to Bespin. Chewie – in a risky move that would have gotten him gutted by Han, if he'd woken Leia, or interrupted about an hour earlier – had poked is head into the private cabin and snarled, at low volume, that Han ought to do something useful, and chucked the manifest datapad at him.

Han usually did inventory in the cockpit, or at the Dejarik table, but he had no desire to get up – and Leia was still asleep, and she had the open side of the bunk; no way in hell was he going to disturb her.

He felt oddly domestic, handling logistics responsibly while a woman slept beside him.

She stirred occasionally, snuggling closer. She'd already slid her hand through the crook of his arm twice, pulling it towards her possessively, and he'd had to stop what he was doing and wait patiently for her to readjust so he could have his arm back.

Leia pulled at his ribs, and his hip, apparently trying to get comfortable, and closer, at the same time.

He grinned and shook his head – there was no logic in his feeling so at home with her so suddenly, like four nights together meant a lifetime of permanence, but his brain was working against him, his entire being seem to have settled the moment she climbed into bed with him –

 _I want to do this, Han, I want to.  
_ _Okay, Sweetheart._

He checked through edible supplies, water; he checked his financial situation – abysmal showing of credits in his numerous secure and hidden accounts, nowhere near enough to pay off what Jabba was asking now, and the Rebellion couldn't afford to back him – he couldn't just _run_ from the bounty anymore, not now, not when he had Leia, finally, and they'd already discovered the easiest way to get him was to go for her.

Han scrolled through the repair log aimlessly.

Leia pulled on his elbow, shifting silently, and he transferred the datapad from one hand to the pillow so he could rest the arm she was pulling on over her waist. After a moment, he glanced down to check on her, and noticed –for a split second – that her eyes were open, and she was looking contemplatively at his arm.

He _watched_ her shut her eyes, turn slightly, and innocently pull on his arm again.

He sat up slightly, eyeing her intently.

"Leia," he said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

He lowered his head a little, peering at her closed eyes. Her lashes twitched a little.

"You awake?" he asked suspiciously.

Her lashes fluttered again, and she bit her lip, opening one eye just slightly. She looked sheepish, and – like she'd been caught, red-handed, and he felt a flicker of amusement – what the hell was she - ?

"You been awake this whole time?" he asked, as her eyes opened completely, and she stared up at him with her dark brown eyes.

Leia tilted her head slightly.

She had been; she just didn't want to admit it.

Han gave her an expectant look, arching a brow.

"I thought you were all over me in your _sleep_ ," he teased.

He grinned. He tucked the datapad under the pillow to protect it from harm, and shifted to lie back down next to her, propping his head on his palm.

"Why're you doing that?" he asked curiously.

"Hmm?" Leia murmured, her cheeks flushing. "What?"

"Pretending," Han accused lightly. "Pulling on me like that. 'M I not givin' you enough attention?"

Leia blinked at him warily, and he wondered if he'd struck a nerve. His smirk faded a little, and he tilted his head.

"Doesn't bother me, Leia," he said, rubbing his jaw.

She shifted uncomfortably, lifting her shoulders. She brushed hair out of her face.

"I like your touch," she said quietly. "You're – warm. You smell good, you," she paused carefully. "You feel good."

"Yeah, so," Han drawled. "You feel good, too. Don't pretend to be asleep."

Leia sighed. She closed her eyes.

"It's clingy, Han, I know it is," she confessed under her breath. "I don't want to be that, ah, suffocating girl – "

"What?"

"Smother you, you know," she said edgily. "I don't want you to – get nervous, think I'm, I'm," she faltered, gritting her teeth. "I don't know. I shouldn't have done this."

"You wanted this," Han said, gripped suddenly by fear. "You – you came to me, Leia, you – "

"No, no, shh," she soothed quickly. "I'm not accusing you – I'm just, I'm saying, I know – we slept together, and that's not synonymous with commitment, I know that, I don't want you to think I'm expecting – I don't want to _cling_."

She bit her bottom lip, frustrated.

"I thought I could be more detached."

Han looked at her, his mouth slightly open, for a long, silent moment, unsure what to say. He hadn't thought – he hadn't been thinking, _kriff, she's needy, wish she'd get off me –_ it wasn't like that at all; he didn't want her to think that. He would never, _never_ have spent so much time chipping away the iron and steel around her heart if that was all this was, some quickly sated sexual desire –

"Don't," he said huskily, running his hand over her ribcage. He shook his head. "Don't be detached."

He stopped his hand on her stomach, looking down at her bare skin.

"It's just," Leia breathed softly, "that I feel so vulnerable," she confessed, "and it's overwhelming me."

She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging.

"I haven't been held, just _held_ , in years."

Han smiled at her a little – stubborn, strong princess, expressing affection in feigned sleep because she thought it made her weak, thought it would make him think she was immature, or ridiculous. If he'd known – well, he'd been wary of her, even in intimate moments, he'd wanted to give her space, not crowd her _– let her lead, Solo, let her choose you –_

It was a relief, almost, because hell, this way if he held on to her tight, he wouldn't seem like less of a man for needing someone so badly, not if she needed him, too.

"Leia?"

She blinked at him expectantly; he leaned a little closer, sliding his hand from her stomach to her waist.

"C'mere," he whispered.

She smiled faintly and moved closer, seeking out, falling into, a tangle of a hug so tight she might never escape, and that was fine with her, because since the moment she'd come in here, resolved to let him touch her, resolved to be touched, she'd unlocked the repressed prison she'd been living in, and she was feeling so much – affection, hope, happiness, sadness, loss – and it left her drained, and Han's arms, and his closeness, was respite, a recharge – electric strength.

"You can cling," he mumbled gruffly.

Leia made a skeptical noise; discontent.

"Hey," he growled lightly, pressing his mouth to her ear, tucking her head to his chest. "I kept dodgin' bounty hunters so I could hang around for this, for you comin' to your damn senses about me," he drawled.

He felt Leia laugh softly, squeezing his side lightly.

"You damn well better _cling_ , Princess," he told her. "You hear me?"

She nodded against his chest.

" _Don't_ let go," he said huskily.

Leia tightened her grip – _well, then don't go,_ she thought, fearful of Bespin, and what was to come – oh, she needed to come to her senses, put herself back together, eliminate this vulnerability, because they were trapped in suspended time, separated from the Rebellion and real time, and that wasn't going to last forever –

She could only lay there with him, though, because she hadn't felt good in so long, and he – he felt so good.

* * *

 _-alexandra_

 _story #325_


End file.
